


Narcissus

by wednesdayisland



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Matrix (Movies)
Genre: Dimension Travel, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 16:56:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesdayisland/pseuds/wednesdayisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond is surprised by his counterpart from another world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narcissus

Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, was searching for the finishing touches to his elegantly groomed outfit. His eye lighted on a jewelled box, which he lifted down from the shelf. “There,” he sighed, taking the exquisitely bejewelled tiara from its velveted resting place, “I am, indeed, still the prettiest.”  
  
He pranced towards the mirror once more, wondering whether the tiara’s lapis lazuli clashed with his eyes. Deep and expressive eyes, they were, and had won over many an elf in their time— aye, and dwarves too, if truth be told. He would have to interview that Gimli in his chambers later. Rather dashing in his rough way, but a bath might be in order first.  
  
Elrond’s eyes focussed on the mirror as he patted his hair down. There was still a good hour before the Council was due to start, but he always preferred to look the part for as long as possible. He would go and see what rooms Gimli had been given, he decided. As host, it was his duty to check that his guests had been given spacious rooms. And, he added as an afterthought, comfortable double beds.  
  
As he turned to leave, he caught his own reflection with the corner of his eye. A darker, sterner, less elven self, it seemed. Looking back, there was nobody there but his own beautiful self.  
  
On a whim, he went seeking his palantír.  
  
Palantíri were not uncommon in Middle-Earth in those days, though many were unknown to its later chroniclers. The Elves often had small palantíri which could be carried in the pocket, which could be used to speak to people over a distance of several miles; they were often used to request the local cooks to send them a meal of lembas with certain sauces. And it was traditional when riding to use one’s palantír to tell another Elf: “Hello? It’s me! I’m on a horse!”  
  
Elrond, however, had a very large one, beautiful to look upon. He kept the palantír in a small curtained room, soundproofed with certain enchantments, and it was to this room, not without some excitement, that he walked.  
  
He passed through the curtains, and stood a moment in peace, collecting his thoughts. Then with one hand he caressed the ball, and spoke aloud the word of enchantment.  
  
 _"Operator."_  
  
A low crackling sound suffused the chamber, and for a moment, Elrond wondered whether the spell had taken no effect. Then, dimly, a face began to be visible. Whose face? Elrond gazed intently into the depths of the crystal, only to see the reflection of his own face…  
  
His own face.  
  
It was no reflection. It was the image inside the ball. And the room, already filled with an unearthly light, seemed filled with the presence of another… yet somehow… the same. Elrond, dropping slowly to his knees, stared into the face of the one in the ball, and found that he was staring into the face of one in the same room.  
  
His own face.  
  
Yet it had no eyes. Where his double’s eyes had been was something shiny like metal, black as the sea at midnight. The double looked implacably down at Elrond, implacable as only the Eyeless can be.  
  
Elrond’s own eyes grew wide with terror. Yet, other parts of his hot elven body were growing wide with something more. He was… he was perfect. Long, long had he lusted secretly after himself, with a lust that was only partly satisfied by long sessions alone beneath the waterfalls after dark. How he envied the lot of those pretty elves who had had the luck to fall into bed with him! Now, now at last, he put one trembling hand slowly forward.  
  
"Good evening, Mr Elrond," said the standing one, without evident emotion. "We have been watching you and your activities for a while." He appeared to stifle a cough, and went on. "It has been a difficult and perilous journey for me to stand before you like this. I paid a heavy price."  
  
"Then why," stammered Elrond, "why have you come?"  
  
A glimmer of a smile passed the lips of the familiar stranger. “Mr Elrond… I have not. Yet.”  
  
"What is your name?" breathed the kneeling Elrond.  
  
"I am you. After I had watched you for some time, I found myself so strangely attracted to you that I sought advice. The advice I was given was simple… Know Yourself. I was your negative. Your other half. The opposite and the same. I was you."  
  
"But sir… me… Elrond…"  
  
"I am Mr Smith, if names must be given."  
  
"But Mr Smith… why? Why did you choose to meet me, if I am yourself?"  
  
Smith laughed, in a manner that was less than human. “I have journeyed here from another world, seeking you, because you are my one…” he paused, licking his lips, “one true love. I wish to change the world, Mr Elrond. I want all people to be like me. To be me. Yet you… you are me. And like you, Mr Elrond, I fantasise about myself. How it would be. Now I feel I may find out…”  
  
Elrond’s heart beat as though it would burst his chest. His eyes swam.  
  
Smith smiled. One hand half-stroked his own thigh and just as quickly stopped. “What is that sound I hear? Ah. That is the sound of your breath, Mr Elrond. I believe you have waited for this moment as long as I have…”  
  
Elrond’s eyes loosened themselves from Smith’s eyeless face and hovered around Smith’s fingertips. He took Smith’s hands in his own and, bringing the fingers to his mouth, gently moistened them with his tongue. Smith pulled his fingers away to slowly and deliberately unzip his fly.  
  
It is not often that an Elf is lost, but Elrond had been out of his depth for several minutes. Though he had never before seen a zip-fastener, the Lord of Rivendell was back on familiar ground, and he knew the way forward from here. Elrond gently ran his tongue from the root of Smith’s penis to the tip, where it stayed for a moment before the Elf cupped his lips around the head and began to suck.  
  
Smith gasped. “I have often heard, Mr Elrond,” he panted, his emotionless demeanour beginning to slip, “what I believe to be an old saying: ‘Go to the Elves for fellatio, for they will go both fast and slow’. I see that… oh, Architect… I see that they were not lying.”  
  
As Elrond unbuttoned Smith’s pants with a practised hand and let them fall to the floor, Elrond slipped one finger into his mouth, stroking Smith’s penis as he did so. His hands were already sneaking around Smith’s buttocks, squeezing them, kneading them, then his wet finger found home and slipped inside and squirmed, Smith let out an uncharacteristic squeal. “Who’d have thought it?” smiled Elrond to himself. “He’s a squealer, too. Well, I suppose he would be, being me…”  
  
Smith gripped Elrond’s hair, almost painfully, pushing him, guiding him. The time would soon be upon them. Elrond drew his teeth gently up to the head, preparing to swallow, and began with his tongue on the tip to try to push Smith over the edge. Soon. Soon. Thank Galadriel for those trumpet lessons he’d taken as a young Elf.  
  
Smith gasped and panted and bowed as an orgasm grew, blossomed and burned through his body. Yet instead of the familiar warm wet mouthful Elrond was expecting, a strange black substance burst from Smith’s body, growing up Elrond’s fingers and along his arms. Soon his upper body was covered, and then his head. Elrond fell to the floor, writhing— not an uncommon occurrence, it is true— but he writhed for no more than a few seconds, and then lay still.  
  
Smith stood, panting, and watched him. Almost as an afterthought, he zipped his fly.  
  
After a moment, the shiny blackness burst from the body that had once been the Lord of Rivendell, and there on the floor lay another Smith in another black suit. He, too, had shiny dark metal in place of eyes. The first Smith helped him to his feet.  
  
"How long until the Council begins?" enquired the original.  
  
"Forty-three minutes. Enough time to disguise ourselves." the new Smith replied.  
  
The first Smith smiled coldly. “This is _my_ world now.”  
  
"This is _ours,_ " replied his doppelganger.  
  
Together, the two Smiths walked through the curtain and into an unsuspecting Middle-Earth.


End file.
